


The Longing of the Soul

by aphelion_orion



Category: Drag-On Dragoon | Drakengard
Genre: Gen, Implied Incestuous Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-31
Updated: 2010-12-31
Packaged: 2017-10-14 06:53:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/146580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aphelion_orion/pseuds/aphelion_orion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Held captive within the Sky Fortress, Furiae is left only with her desperate prayers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Longing of the Soul

Sometimes, it seemed to Furiae that the only thing she had ever been able to do in life was to pray.

She remembered the lessons from her early childhood with a tinge of fondness, a certain sense of nostalgia and longing for the old days, the better days, the days when she used to sit in an overstuffed chair, the heavy prayer book in her lap, struggling to pronounce words she could barely even understand.

In those days, the gods had meant little to her, abstract, formless beings wrapped in concepts of which she knew nothing—hardship, doubt, despair.

She considered it ironic, that she had been longing for her brother to save her even then, save her from the dullness of reciting verses that escaped her comprehension, and the boring drone of the old priestess overseeing her lessons. On some occasions, Caim did come—without knocking, always without knocking—sweeping her off the chair to the loud clatter of the falling book and the stammering outrage of the governess, carrying her out into the sunshine and filling her head with stories she found much more interesting.

Furiae was no longer sure whether that was because Caim had made a good storyteller, or simply because he seemed to her to be part of a fairytale himself—a world she could only access when he would be home to tell her about it, or plop her eight-year-old self on the back of a giant warhorse, or teach her clumsy fingers how to hold a bow. Funny, how his hands always seemed like a giant's to her, so much bigger than hers—bigger than father's—even back then…

Indeed, she had always been clumsy with her hands, a trait unbecoming of a princess, but she could not seem to help it; forever pricking her fingers on her needlework, and never mastering the art of an instrument, despite how hard Inuart would try to teach her. Inuart, poor Inuart, he had tried to teach her to sing, as well, and it never worked out—Furiae no longer remembered what she sounded like, but she remembered the wince Inuart had never quite been able to hide despite the fact that he meant to, and, even more than that, her brother's exaggerated grimaces.

It was through Inuart's songs, though, that she had learned to understand, that the prayers began to speak to her heart. In retrospect, it was all so much clearer where the suffering came from that would resonate through his voice and would touch her so deeply. She didn't like the horrible certainty that when he had been singing these elegies, he had not been thinking of the gods at all.

But then, she herself wasn't much better. After all, the focus of her own prayers had long since shifted, the gods eclipsed by a figure that was much more beautiful and terrible, and twice as removed.

\-----

Her first thought, when it finally came, was that the ground was much too soft.

She hadn't had a proper bed to sleep in in weeks, not since they had left the castle, which had been hard on her, her body burning with the weight of the seal and the soreness of her muscles. It hadn't been the first time they had been forced to run, to abandon everything they had just to save their lives, but back then, in the earliest days, whatever discomfort she might have felt had been secondary to her brother's warmth as she clung to him, hoping that sleep would take away the tears she was struggling not to cry, not when Caim wouldn't.

But here, now, was wrong. Here was not the castle, here was not the camp, and Caim...

 _A black devil descending like a bird of ruin, to take away everything she held dear once more..._

Startling fully awake at the memory, Furiae lurched forward, her breath catching in her throat at the thought that she didn't _know_ , she hadn't seen how it had ended, whether Caim was—

"There is nothing to fear."

The sound of that voice sent a chill down her spine, and she slowly turned her head to face Inuart, sitting in a chair a few paces away, a serene smile on his lips. It made her flinch even more than the unholy glow of his eyes, a red madness shining from their depths.

Around him, the room was strangely bright and airy, lending the entire scene an air of unreality. Furiae had at the very least expected to find herself in a prison cell, if the Empire would not kill her outright. But here she was, in a comfortable room with colorful tapestry pinned to the stone walls, elegantly carved furniture and a rug of soft fur, leading up to wide canopy bed she found herself on.

Everything about the room inspired a strong feeling of déjà vu, though she could not immediately tell why. She didn't know this place, did she, she had no idea where they—

 _"How do you like it, my dear?"_

 _"Oh, it's wonderful, mother, you've really outdone yourself!"_

 _A pleased laugh. "When would I do my best, if not for the wedding of my only daughter?"_

 _"But it's still so far off!"_

 _"Six months is not far off by half. Where are you going, dear?"_

 _"I'm getting Inuart, he'll want to see—"_

 _"That's bad luck, dear, wait up...!"_

 _"I can't hear you, mother!"_

 _More laughter, fading with the sound of running feet._

The memory made her shudder, shoulders hunching forward as her body attempted to curl in on itself at the realization. She was sitting in the middle of a room she had seen only once, the room her parents had prepared as the backdrop to her wedding night.

"Dearest Furiae, what's wrong?" the faintest hint of worry had crept into Inuart's tone, and she could not tell whether he was mocking her, or whether he truly thought that there was no reason for her to be afraid.

"Inuart..." she whispered, only to watch the red glow flare, so different from the hopeless happiness that would light up his face whenever she called his name. "Inuart, what have you done?"

He blinked at her, seemingly taken aback by the question. "What have I done...?"

"You—"

Then, the confusion cleared from his face, replaced by serenity once more. "I have found a way to save you, of course."

"Save... me...?"

"Those Union fools would never free you from your curse, but the Watchers are kind! They're as saddened as me at your fate. They listened when I told them about you, about us—! They say there is a way!"

Shaking her head in disbelief, Furiae tried to suppress the panic rising within her. Caim and the dragon had reported on the gruesome rituals of the cult, brutally sacrificing hundreds of elves for no reason, and even without that knowledge, she could feel the ever-growing strain on her body, the pain burning through her veins like ice, telling her that two seals had already fallen. Whatever the Watchers were planning, it had nothing to do with kindness.

"Inuart, they won't free me. Nobody can free me, only death will—!"

He smiled. "Yes, they said so. The death of the goddess."

At her gasp, Inuart cocked his head in puzzlement, but there was something else in his eyes, something that wasn't him, wasn't him at all, and that something was watching and rejoicing at her terror.

"Don't be afraid, dearest Furiae. There is nothing to fear. Furiae the goddess will die, and Furiae the woman will live!"

"Inuart, you... are you _mad_?" she breathed, unable to help the words. Even a fool could recognize the truth hiding behind this promise. He couldn't truly believe… yet he appeared happy, overjoyed at the prospect, as if he really thought…

She had always assumed that the Empire would torture him, especially since they knew who he was, that the demon that had come to abduct her was the result of hours, days of torment, but now… now it seemed like it hadn't taken much at all.

 _Fool, fool! How could you be such a fool, Inuart?!_

Furiae cringed away from the thought that bubbled up inside her, so terribly angry.

 _So weak, such a fool, if it had been Caim…_

 _/Oh, what a disgusting wretch you are, that you wish he would have suffered for you./_

"Mad?" Frowning, he rose from his seat, a cold expression twisting his features, so unfamiliar on his once gentle face. "Why are you looking at me like that? I've found a way to save you! Not those Union fools, not Caim. _Me_! They don't care about you, they're content to watch you wither and die in misery. They would never do a thing to help you, but I—!"

Involuntarily, her hand twitched towards her belt, grasping only the folds of her dress.

"Are you looking for this, dearest Furiae?"

The dagger seemed tiny in his armored hand, a silver butterfly about to be crushed.

"Don't worry, you won't need it anymore." For a moment, she felt like she was not speaking to him at all anymore, some kind of foreign glee dancing in his eyes.

Then she blinked, and it was gone.

"Caim won't be taking you away to suffer anymore. I promise I won't let him touch you."

The anger and fear for herself were swept away, and she lunged forward, her hand outstretched. "No! Inuart, please listen—!"

"Please get some rest, dearest Furiae. I will do everything for your happiness." He turned to go.

"Inuart—!"

With a last glimpse of a smile that seemed both vacant and strangely intent, the door fell shut.

After a moment, Furiae slowly slid off the bed. The cold stone floor stung against her bare feet, but she hardly took notice—couldn't take notice, her mind growing numb against the realization that she could not reach him. She knew that it was useless to try the door, knew that even if she could have opened it, there would have been no way to escape, but the knowledge that Inuart had locked her in still hurt against the memory of his doting kindness.

 _Deference. Deference, that's what it was, hoping—_

 _/No!/_

Turning to the window with an endless expanse of roiling white below, Furiae drew a deep breath, searching for the verses of an age-old prayer.

The wind whistled shrilly, a high, mad sound, tumbling down the sides of the floating fortress.

\-----

The folds of silk unraveling, the gift tumbles into her lap, gleaming and unexpectedly heavy.

"Thank you, brother, thank you! It's beautiful!"

"Oh Caim, you're incorrigible."

"Thank you so much, dear brother! You're the best!"

"Furiae, be careful with that! This is not a toy, it's a weapon!"

"Don't worry, I'll teach her how to use it."

"That is what's worrisome!"

"Well, it does seem a tad unbecoming of a princess."

"It's useful. She can stab Inuart if he doesn't treat her right on the wedding night."

Shocked gasps from Mother and the guests, laughter from Father, a dismayed wail from Inuart, her brother grinning like a fiend in the face of it all.

Furiae barely understands, hardly cares. It is her tenth birthday, and her big brother has just given her the best gift in the world. Any gift her brother gives is the best gift in the world.

\-----

It was strange how being in this room was so much worse than staying in a dungeon, the familiar items and decorations dredging up things a hundred times more painful than the bite of any shackles.

Furiae hated how she couldn't stop herself from remembering—she had never been able to stop herself; every minute, every hour wishing that it could all become undone, wishing that she could return to being five or ten or thirteen, flying down the steps and past the guards, to be the first to greet her brother upon his return home.

She had never been able to accept her fate as the teachings told her, to be the proud martyr everyone would turn to in their time of need. Although she had held her head high and treaded with quiet dignity, the thought that she was now holding everything together like a tenuous thread, that her very existence was now ensuring countless lives, _Caim's_ life, had never been able to rise above the memory of touch.

Furiae missed her mother's fingers gently combing through her hair, missed her place on her father's knee, missed Inuart offering her his arm like a knight—trying so hard to be something he was not, always trying so hard.

Most of all, though, she missed her brother, who had never cared for protocol, to whom she had always been "sister" rather than "princess", who had grabbed her and swung her around without wasting a thought about propriety and conduct.

It hurt, it hurt more than the weight of the world to see him withdraw, to watch his face grow dark and fierce, to long for the touch of his large, calloused hands and barely receive the most distant caress, bestowed upon a symbol rather than _her_ , and the more she would turn to him, the more he would turn away.

She had heard the stories of the women who had walked her path before her, and had walked it gladly, and felt all the worse for not being able to do even that. It had become a game, an awful, repulsive game, where Inuart would play at being her servant, and she would play at being the goddess, but Caim would barely manage to play at being her brother.

"Why are you so sad, dearest Furiae?"

The voice startled her from her musings, every muscle in her body going rigid. Had he even knocked?

The thought was ridiculous, for what difference would it make? It wasn't like she could refuse him, and Inuart seemed to delight in reminding her of the fact, a part of him—not that other presence, no, _him_ —glad to have her secured as a possession.

"Do not worry, most beloved Furiae. I shall destroy all those who would bring you grief. The eastern kingdoms have already fallen. Soon we'll be able to take the last seal. Soon…"

"Stop it, please," Furiae whispered, terrified all the more because she did not know who was taking pleasure in the slaughter, whether it was the presence, or whether it was Inuart himself, mad with power.

"It's a most beautiful place; you would love the sea. The priestess has promised it to me as a reward for wiping out those heathens… we can build a new kingdom there, by the sea, and Furiae shall be queen of all there is… a blue-eyed queen for a land of blue forests and waves!"

"Inuart, stop it!"

Once upon a time, she had loved his poetry; now it made her shudder, the blood spilled in her name contained in every word.

He blinked, bewildered at her sharp tone. "…stop it?"

"Stop it, Inuart, this isn't you! So many people are dying… and you…"

The confusion cleared from his face, a cold smile spreading across his lips. "Not like me? But you liked it when your brother did it."

"No."

"You were glad whenever he returned, hundreds crushed with those dirty hands of his."

"No…"

 _But you were glad, weren't you? You didn't care how many he killed, as long as he would return to you._

 _/I wanted my brother to live! I never wanted him to kill, I only wanted him to—/_

 _To come back to you, filthy selfish girl. You didn't care how much blood there was on his hands, as long as there was a chance he would embrace you—_

Amazing, how she could think she had the right to criticize anything at all, and yet… at least it had meant they would all be safe. At least it had meant the world would be safe.

"I'm doing this for you, dearest Furiae. Not like him—he doesn't care about you, all he cares about is his puny revenge. He'd be happy to let you get killed if it meant he could see the world burn!"

"That's not true," she whispered, hating how her voice faltered in the face of Inuart's change, in the face of these malicious words that held the tiniest grain of truth. A part of her had always known, and refused to acknowledge, that Caim had enjoyed taking those lives, making the Empire pay.

"Why are you even wasting a thought on him, Furiae?" Inuart's voice had returned to its former soothing tone, as if talking to a stubborn child. "He's not worth your love or grief. You won't have to shed tears for him anymore… I'll make sure of that."

"No, please…" she wanted to say, but her voice was barely louder than the wind, robbing her of her feeble protest. Useless, useless like everything she did, but Furiae had the feeling that even if she had screamed, even if she had been able to make it an order, it wouldn't have changed a thing.

 _Prayer… prayer is all you're good for. And you will pray, won't you? You will pray for your brother's triumph, and Inuart's fall._

Folding her hands across her heart, Furiae tried to empty her mind, seeking solace in her plea to the gods that had never seemed to care, and trying to ignore the horrible little voice slithering back into her thoughts, telling her that she would be glad about another person's death.

\-----

"…Furiae? What are you doing here?"

His voice, slow and thick, spoken in the darkness to the sound of rustling sheets.

"Brother… I…"

A pause. "You should sleep. We'll have to move soon."

"It hurts. It hurts so much. Help me, brother, please, help me."

"Furiae, there's nothing I… Furiae?!"

"Please, please, dear brother. Don't send me away, I'll die if you send me away. Just for a little while, I beg of you."

"Furiae…"

Silence, and she buries her face against his shoulder, in too much pain to even sob, hands fisted in his shirt, glad for his warmth and his voice and his scent, everything he is and everything about him. She is fourteen and the seal is eroding her soul, and she wishes she could crawl inside her brother's body and die, die so she can be a part of him and he won't push her away. She hates the fact that her pleas finally move him to pity, but the feeling of his hand, cautiously, hesitantly rubbing her back, is worth any shame.

\-----

It was just another thing to hate about herself on top of all the other things to hate; the fact that she could force Caim to give things he didn't even know he was giving, fervently hoping every day of her life that he would be kind, that he wouldn't hate her, that she could come to be for him what he was to her.

She tried to bury those thoughts, bury them deep and good so that they would never reflect in her eyes, or her touch, or her voice. The inside of her heart had long since become a well, bottomless from hunger and despair, and it should have been easy to toss in even these desires and drown them, but they would not, crawling out again and again like insidious beasts.

The fact that she did not try to drown them now was just another despicable act, fragments of recollections her only solace now that the pain was scattering all her prayers, until all that was left was the desperate wish for her brother's closeness, disgusting, immoral, wrong.

The third seal had fallen, leaving her curled into a pathetic little ball on the bed, scrambling through her mind in search of anything that would soothe the burning, endless pain for even an instant.

 _Sunshine, sunshine and summer heat and staining her skirts in the green, green grass…_

 _"When I grow up, I wanna marry you, big brother."_

 _Splashing water and uproarious laughter._

 _"It's not funny!"_

 _"Yes, it is. That's not how it works."_

 _"Why not? I like you better than Inuart, and— Stop laughing, big brother! You're so mean!"_

It was enough to drive her to tears now, the childish declaration from forever ago stinging like a slap—the innocence behind such words, how come she had never been able to keep it, to recover it, to maintain the mindset from that time when she saw no difference between her parents, and Caim and herself, and thought of these vows as a promise to stay together.

 _Caim, Caim help me. I think I'm going insane..._

"He'll be here soon."

Furiae jerked upright despite her body's cry of protest, to see a small girl staring back at her with the sort of pitiless fascination one held for a writhing insect.

"You… Who are you…?"

"He won," the girl said, and her childish voice was offset by the nameless, ancient something leering from the depths of her red eyes. "He won, aren't you glad?"

There was no question as to whom she was talking about. "How… how can you know that? Who _are_ you?"

The child giggled. "The Watchers know everything! They want to see! Let's not make them wait."

Furiae shook her head, disconcerted and confused. Whoever the little girl was, she was most definitely not sane. Why was the Empire keeping children…?

"You want to see your brother, don't you? He came all this way to see you, aren't you happy? Won't you greet him like a good sister?"

Slowly, Furiae rose from the bed, knew without even trying that she could not have refused the girl, who was already skipping out the door. A cold dread was pooling in the pit of her stomach, an irrefutable certainty that something was about to happen.

Whatever this was, it definitely wasn't an act of mercy.

\- FIN -

\-----

 **A/N:** I hope I was able to do Furiae justice. C &C is welcome, as always.

"Prayer is not asking. It is a longing of the soul. It is daily admission of one's weakness." - Mahatma Ghandi  



End file.
